


Wake the Moon

by solfell



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, flagrant anti-templar/anti-chantry propaganda, flagrant radical pro-mage propaganda, the fix-it of my dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solfell/pseuds/solfell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can sense the Blight-flavor now. It’s not an almost-whisper at the edges of perception. It’s a glinting point, a dagger-sharp spot of awareness and truth. If she can sense it, then he can sense her, and her heart thumps in her chest. She gulps down a few breaths, desert air fills her lungs, and she forces herself into action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever bitter that Awakening didn't have any romance options.
> 
> Bitterness will fuel my own destruction. Witness me.

They take a moment’s rest before entering the Mother’s nest. Nathaniel needs to gather stray arrows and repair a few fletchings. Sigrun hops from one foot to the other, rolls her shoulders, mutters under her breath.

Avani pulls off her helmet and checks over Spellweaver. She’s glad to know her chosen blade has survived so much with her. Anders sits beside her, robes rustling in the oppressive quiet. He looks tired, but strong and uninjured.

“Ready?” he asks.

Her reply is gruffer than intended. “I’ve fought her sort before.”

“Well, I haven’t,” he replies.

“We’ll be fine.”

He stares at her, expression strained and serious. Then, he adopts an affable mask and smiles. “A kiss then, for luck.”

Avani raises an eyebrow. “For luck?”

“Among other things—”

She touches his jaw, tilts his face down toward hers, and kisses him. His fingers skim the sides of her neck where her armor doesn’t reach, and he pulls himself closer, his chest against her breastplate.

It’s not sweet or romantic, but frightened and desperate, pouring comfort and dread together. Avani doesn’t know if she feels better or worse when the kiss ends. Anders holds her face in his hands, and touches a final kiss to her forehead head. He stands and goes to wait at the nest’s entrance. She doesn’t watch him go, and he doesn’t look back at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the updates on this one will be sporadic as fuck, since it's mostly just an angsty side-story to help balance the fluff of my Adaar/Cullen story. Avani's the first Warden I ever wrote about, back in 2010, and I've always wanted to do her justice. No pun intended.
> 
> Title from [here](http://bactra.org/Poetry/Millay/Upon_this_age.html). I seem to have a theme of stealing lines from Edna St. Vincent Millay poems which are wholly unrelated to my plot. Whatever, she was a cool as fuck lady who wrote beautiful things.
> 
> THIS BE A POLL: I'm playing with the idea of separating Anders and Justice. Normally, I would be vehemently against that, but normally my Hawkes are friends with Anders and everything is a little more harmonious. The Hawke in this story is Legit Terrible, so the situation's different.
> 
> So, what say you to the idea of de-possessing Anders?


	2. The Wastes

The Hissing Wastes is as beautiful as it is dangerous. Less dangerous now that the Inquisition has established itself in the area, but that hasn’t affected the way the moon hangs low and the stars blink like faraway lanterns. Avani Surana never thought she’d ever travel this far west. Her magic manifested when she was not even four, so the Circle Tower was all she knew for the first twenty some years of her life.

She’s been out in the real world for more than a decade now. It’s still difficult for her to know what to do when faced with such strange and wonderful places like the Hissing Wastes. Most people who meet her wouldn’t guess at the awe she has for the world, but most people are idiots who only see others in a one-dimensional light.

She stands on a cliff near the Inquisition’s Sunstop Mountains camp, and looks out over the vast space of sand. Then, she closes her eyes. She reaches in an abstract way stretching her senses, looking for a flavor of something familiar--an oily imprint of the taint that all darkspawn and Grey Wardens carry. There might be--beyond the craggy peaks, to the north--a small piece of the blight, but it’s like hearing a voice whisper just beyond earshot.

A maybe-whisper is more than she’s sensed since leaving the Western Approach, but she doesn’t let her heart leap with hope. Doesn’t let her breath catch, because disappointment stings all the more when she allows hope to flourish. She steps away from the cliff’s edge and sits on a nearby boulder. In her pack are enough provisions for a week or so; she fishes out some flatbread and a stick of dried jerky.

Most of her other bags and supplies are at her camp by an oasis to the south. Her horse is there, too, guarded by her mabari, Lin.

A young fennec fox skitters towards her, and smells the toe of her boot. Avani offers it a corner from her square of flatbread. It snatches it out of her hand before darting away. They have such funny ears--Avani can’t keep a small smile off her face.

Jowan had ears too big for his head when they were children. He didn't grow into them until he was nearly seventeen.  Jowan once had ears too large for his head. He didn’t grow into them until he was nearly seventeen. Avani was one of the few apprentices in their age group who didn’t make fun of him for his ears. Perhaps that’s why they first became friends. There was very little else they had in common.

Avani stands, brushes crumbs from her leggings and treks towards the mountain summit. She visits the Sunstop camp and she’s always surprised at how cordial Inquisition soldiers are. The head officer greets Avani with a polite nod and smile.

“Lieutenant Keller. Welcome to Sunstop Camp. You a hunter? Not many head this far up the mountains,” the thin woman says. Most of her hair is tucked beneath a helmet, but an inky strand peeks out near her temple.

When Avani’s out of her Warden regalia, very few people recognize her. This far to the west, there’s an even smaller chance for someone knowing who she is. “Not a hunter,” she replies. “At least, not the sort that are common in the area.”

“You after a bounty, then?”

“I suppose so. I was wondering if your scouts have seen anyone in the area who isn’t Tevinter, Inquisition, or Orlesian,” Avani says.

The officer’s expression takes on a pensive edge. “I’ve not heard anything. I can check the reports, if you like?”

“I would appreciate that.”

The woman heads over to a nearby table and begins shuffling through the reams of paper there. “Mind if I ask who you’re after? Might be easier if I know what to look for.”

Before she can offer a non-reply, another Inquisition soldier approaches and nods at Avani. He’s green. Almost as green as Avani was when she left Kinloch Hold. It’s a wonder that he’s out in the middle of nowhere, instead of training closer to Skyhold.

He addresses both her and the lieutenant. “Can I help with anything?” he asks.

“I’m looking for someone,” Avani speaks up. She rests her hands on the hilt of her sword. She keeps her overall posture relaxed, non-threatening. “If your scouts have seen him, they likely knew he wasn’t affiliated with anyone else in the Wastes.”

“Phillipa saw signs of someone a few days ago,” the young soldier states. “Out near the Colossus, north west of here. Inquisitor Lavellan already cleared the area of Venatori, so it probably wasn’t one of them.”

The lieutenant pulls a report out of the bedlam of papers. “Yes, that sounds about right,” she confirms. “They didn’t see the person directly, but there’s enough evidence showing that someone was living in the area. There’s another camp near the base of the Colossus. The scouts there might have more information for you.”

Avani takes a deep breath. “Thank you. That’s the best lead I’ve had in a long time,” she announces. “Is there a place nearby where I can replenish my water?”

“There’s a pool just down the hill,” the lieutenant points to a sloping path. “There’s likely a few bandits. It’s been awhile since they were cleared out, but you seem like a capable woman. Keep your wits about you, though.”

Avani almost smiles, but instead says, “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

She kills the bandits and a pair of lurkers. Then, she refills her waterskin and sets out towards the Colossus.


	3. Found

When she reaches the ladders and scaffolding near the Colossus, Avani has to take a break. She’s not tired or injured, but she can sense the Blight now. It’s not an almost-whisper at the edges of perception. It’s a glinting point, a dagger-sharp spot of awareness and truth. If she can sense it, then he can sense her, and her heart thumps in her chest. She gulps down a few breaths, desert air fills her lungs, and she forces herself into action. 

If he can sense her, then he might already be running. She quickens her pace, sprints towards the darkspawn-feeling like a hound on a scent. There’s no need to stop at the other Inquisition camp, no need to comb the winds and sand. She knows where to go, and that knowledge feels like a fearful exultation in her chest.

The cave she finds isn’t at the base of the Colossus, but beyond it, tucked in a jagged canyon. A trio of lurkers ambush Avani at canyon entrance, but she freezes them in a wave of ice and shatters them with the pommel of her sword. The cave mouth is shaded by rocks and twisted trees, easily missed, but she knows where to look.

The darkness of the cave shifts, and a man appears, coalescing from the shadows. 

Anders looks terrible. A soft voice in Avani’s head says that she wouldn’t recognize him, if she couldn’t feel that he was a Grey Warden, but that’s a lie. She would know him anywhere, and she’s too old to be telling herself otherwise.

In all the time Avani’s known him, Anders has always been tall and thin. But right now, his tattered clothes hang on an emaciated frame. He looks more scarecrow than human. His hair is longer than it’s likely ever been, dirty and matted. He has a beard, which looks all wrong on his sharp, narrow face. Exhaustion carves dark shadows beneath his eyes, but the rest of his skin is ashen. A deep, crimson scrape marks his cheekbone, scabbed over.

He braces himself against the mouth of the cave with his left hand. Avani swallows back a sick feeling that rises in her gut. From the just above elbow down, his right arm is missing. Anders is a spirit healer, one of the most skilled that Avani’s ever met, but if he was injured badly enough to lose most of a limb--she can imagine the kinds of wounds that would cause such irreparable damage, though she wishes she couldn’t.

“Anders,” she breathes.

His face goes slack in shock. He blinks, and tries to speak, but for a time he can’t say anything at all. Then, “Avani?”

She nods, says, “Yes.”

Again, he doesn’t know what to say. His expression settles, not angry, but bleak. “You’ve come to take me back,” he says, voice hoarse and catching on syllables.

Avani closes her eyes for a moment, and tries to center the riot in her chest. She opens her eyes and tells him, “No. I only wanted to find you.”

“Why?” A shudder goes through him, and blue cracks, like lightning, appear on his skin. His amber brown eyes are overtaken with electric blue, and he lunges at Avani. “You will not shackle us again!” His voice is distorted, ragged and deep.

Avani backpedals and throws up a barrier, then lifts her hand and sends out a mind blast. 

He stumbles backwards. His expression is furious, but he doesn’t approach her again. He seethes from a few yards away, but soon the blue fades and it’s Anders again. 

“Justice?” Avani asks.

Anders grimaces. “More like Vengeance,” he croaks.

Avani steps closer. “Will he make an appearance again?”

Anders looks down, away from her. “I don’t know. It’s likely.”

She frowns, and decides she doesn’t care either way. She closes the gap between them with long strides. Her hands come up to his face, and he flinches away. Avani pauses, then tries again and he just stares at her, like she’s a ghost. Her fingers touch the inflamed skin around the scrape on his cheek; he doesn’t even wince. Creation magic has always been a difficult area for her, but she manages to heal the small wound. 

She allows her hands to linger, fingertips a light contact against his peaky skin. He’s tangible beneath her fingertips. Real. Anders doesn’t try to move away--he meets her gaze and his eyes reflect fear and confusion and weariness.

“I thought you were dead,” she says, and it's difficult to keep her voice from breaking. Nearly ten years after she last saw him, and it still hurts--the memory of returning to Vigil’s Keep only to discover that Anders had disappeared and the only thing left were the shredded bodies of other Wardens. “I’m sorry I left Amaranthine for so long,” she whispers.

Her hands slide down, and rest on his chest. The fabric of his robes is dusty and thin; he smells terrible and looks worse and she’s angry at him and herself. She doesn’t know if any of that matters right now.

Anders’ hand, shaking, presses against the side of her neck. His thumb sweeps back and forth against her pulse point. “Why are you here?” he asks again.

She considers not answering, and sticks her chin out, mulish, while she decides what to say. “You’re the one who got away,” she admits. “Both in the conventional sense, and otherwise.”

He swallows. “There are other meanings to the phrase?”

“You were one of the first Wardens at Vigil’s Keep, and you helped fight the Mother. The rest of us still live in Amaranthine,” Avani says. “Beyond that, you were my friend and I failed you.”

“No,” he says. “No, you didn’t fail anyone.”

“But those Orlesian Wardens, they accepted templars into the order—” she growls. “I wasn’t even gone six months and they tore apart the home I tried to create. I returned to find both you and Justice gone, and then years later I hear you’re in Kirkwall.”

“It wasn’t worth it.”

“What wasn’t?”

“Any of it. Kirkwall, the Chantry, freedom.” His voice breaks.

She hisses. “Don’t say that.”

He blinks, looks away. “I hardly even know who I am anymore, Avani. So many people are dead because of me.”

“And how many people are dead because of the templars and their precious Chantry?” she demands. She huffs a sigh. “I’m not here to discuss the past. Anders, you don’t have to come with me when I return to Amaranthine, but I would like it if you did.”

“Where are we?” he wonders, and the question seems to cost him something to ask.

“The Hissing Wastes in the westernmost reaches of Orlais,” she replies.

“Ah.”

“You look horrible,” Avani says. She can’t help it, standing this close to him.

He laughs. It’s small and haggard and cracked, but it’s a laugh. Avani’s heart breaks--she’s used to the feeling, and hates the world for that. 

“Ser Pounce is back in Vigil’s Keep,” she utters. “As soon as I returned, I had him brought back. He’s too old to mouse like he used to, but he watches over the younger recruits. And the Orlesian and templar Wardens are all but banned from the Keep. Nathaniel is in charge when I’m away.” She pauses, and her next words are mostly to herself. “It’s possible that we’ve been ex-communicated from Weisshaupt.”

“Because of what happened with the Inquisition?”

“You don’t know where we are, but you’re up to date on current affairs?” she drawls.

“I was, until Hawke—” He pulls his hand away, and steps back from her touch.

She heard about the Champion of Kirkwall’s death from Alistair, who survived the ordeal at Adamant and was now on his way to Weisshaupt. Avani gets infrequent news from him, but he promises to return to Amaranthine as soon as possible.

Avani studies Anders’ expression, and the way he wraps his arm around himself. “You loved him.”

“Yes, though I really shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“The Inquisition defeated Corypheus,” she tells him. “For good this time. Inquisitor Lavellan is an adept leader.”

“He’s an elf, of course you like him.”

“I never said I wasn’t biased. Besides, he's sympathetic towards mages, so I know he’s a decent sort,” she states with a small grin.

Anders shares her smile, though his is short-lived. Then, he straightens his shoulders, steeling himself for his next words. “I’ll go with you. I can’t promise I’ll stay me, or that Justice won’t try to harm you, but—”

“I understand. I’m glad.”


	4. Circle Tower

Avani is eight years old when Anders comes to live at Kinloch Hold. The other apprentices are all a titter about the new boy--the apprentices always titter whenever a new person arrives. Avani knows how the tower works. A new person arrives, everyone is fascinated and asks all kinds of prying questions, and then the masses become bored when they realize almost everyone’s story is the same. 

Anders is different in that he’s so much older than most of the new apprentices, and he refuses to speak for at least four or five months after he arrives. Avani is less concerned about his self-imposed muteness. Instead, she’s curious about why it took so long for him to come into his magic, or how he was able to hide it for so long. By the time she has a chance to ask, Anders is away on his first escape attempt. This brings on a whole new wave of interest and speculation, and is further fueled by the appearance of Anders’ friendliness and natural wit. 

She never interacts much with Anders, however, since they’re in different age groups. Besides that, he has a knack for healing and she always been more attuned to destructive, elemental magics. Avani knows of Anders, and he likely knows of her, but that is all. Everyone knows of everyone, in one capacity or another. 

The first time they ever have a conversation is soon after his fourth escape attempt. He’s nearing eighteen years old, and likely preparing for his Harrowing. Not that preparation will do any good--Harrowings aren’t like other tests. Even if an apprentice reads every book in the tower, that doesn’t mean they’ll pass. Avani’s lived her whole life watching apprentice after apprentice undergo that final test, and she’s never able to truly guess who will make it and who will never be seen again. 

Anders is in the library, reading. He has his chair balanced on its back two legs. It wouldn’t take much to make him fall, but Avani isn’t the sort to bully her fellows. She thinks about it, though, because he’s in her way, blocking the space between the table and the nearest bookshelf. The bookshelf which houses a book Enchanter Torrin told her to fetch.  

“Excuse me,” Avani snaps. 

Anders doesn’t look up at her, engrossed in his book. Avani clenches her jaw, and folds her arms across her chest. Her foot taps an annoyed tempo onto the floor.  

After a moment, he looks up at her and says, “Hmm? Sorry, what?” 

“You’re in my way,” she enunciates. 

“Am I?” He glances around. “Oh, sorry about that,” he says, voice breezy, and lets the chair fall forward.  

Avani nods once, sharp, and can feel his eyes on her while she searches the shelves. She sighs, and glares over her shoulder at him. His curious gaze turnes into a startled one, but then he winks and offers a slanted grin. Avani stares him down, face impassive. 

“What?” she asks. 

“I assume, then, that you don’t know what the senior enchanters say about you?” he drawls. 

She rolls her eyes and turns back to the shelf. “It doesn’t matter much, does it?” 

“You’re friends with that Jowan boy, aren’t you?” How he makes the jump from asking about her teachers to asking about her friends, she can’t guess. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Excuse me?” She rounds on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He lifts his hands, palms facing forward. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything, except—” He studies her. “They think you’ll be grand enchanter someday. I’ve heard a few enchanters mention it amongst themselves.” 

She scoffs and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Idle speculation. I’m fourteen; they don’t know what I’ll be.” 

He smirks. “Do you?” 

“Alive, preferably.” 

He chuckles. For some reason that makes her face feel warm, so she looks away.  

“That is a respectable goal,” he muses. “Do you need help reaching something?” 

Avani cranes her neck to see the shelves above her reach. Her lips twist into a moue of irritation. “Perhaps.” 

The chair creaks, and Anders stands. “What are you looking for?”  

Standing side-by-side, Avani is dwarfed by Anders’ lanky height.  

“ _The Maker’s First Children_ ,” she grumbles. “As if I didn’t know about demons and spirits already.” 

Anders reaches up and plucks a book from a shelf far beyond Avani’s head. “Familiarizing yourself with spirits and demons can be helpful,” he says and holds the book out to her. “Can’t say it never hurt anyone, but I think the benefits outweigh the risks.” 

“I don’t like the Fade or spirits. Why bother with all of that when I can light things on fire?” 

He snorts. “Magic is a tool, not an aimless bludgeon. It would be convenient, but you can’t light all your problems on fire.” 

She quirks an eyebrow in defiance. “I can try.” 

After that short interaction, Anders often seeks out Avani’s company in the library. That is, when he isn’t escaping, escaped, or banned from common areas as punishment following his return. Sometimes, he chats easily with Avani. Other times, they study in silence. He flirts with others his own age or older, but leaves the younger apprentices alone. Not all Circle inhabitants show that level of integrity. 

Anders passes his Harrowing, and begins to spend less time around Avani, and more time with an older mage named Karl. Avani likes Karl. He’s kind, sincerity radiates from him, and puts the people around him at ease. Avani’s glad that Anders has a friend like Karl. She’s already Jowan’s only friend--she doesn’t know if she can be someone else’s only friend, too. 


End file.
